


Oubli(s)

by Amazaria



Series: the only steady thing in a world you've set on fire yourself [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Study, Gen, How People Around You Shape You or something, No Dialogue, Platonic Relationships, Post-Marineford, Pre-Fishman Island, Repressing your emotions and other things to do when you're a Revolutionary, The author's insistent feelings about Koala&Sabo, The author's insistent feelings about memories and what you make of it, This has an aim. I think, You Have Been Warned, collection of scenes, just instropection, ostensibly but don't let me fool you, this has no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazaria/pseuds/Amazaria
Summary: Koala and Sabo have a lot of things to do, and amidst it all, they think, or pointedly do not think, about things.(And then miss the most important thing.)(or: Koala, Sabo, and things they can't, or won't, remember.)
Relationships: Koala & Sabo (One Piece)
Series: the only steady thing in a world you've set on fire yourself [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747771
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	Oubli(s)

A thing Koala can't remember:

Her parent's smile. Her parent's voice. Fisher Tiger's smile. Fisher Tiger's voice.

That's fine. The deads are dead, after all, and holding on to memories of them only makes their absence hurt more, so really Koala should give up remembering them and work on memorizing more spies' names and governments' crimes.

It's fine, that she can't remember what her mother got her on her last birthday at home. And it's fine too, that she can't remember Tiger's singing voice.

It's done. It's over. It's been over for a decade, and that's got to be enough time for Koala to have grieved, and for her to stop feeling so guilty about forgetting, or maybe about feeling relieved about forgetting.

It's fine! It's fine. It's fine that she can't remember if her parents were actually good people; it's fine that she can't remember if Tiger ever liked her.

It's fine that there's a giant hole where her happiness should be. It's fine that she lost it, and then got it back, for the shortest moment, and then it was just ripped from her all over again, like the universe just wasn't imaginative enough to not pull the same joke twice. It's fine, and she's fine, and everything's fine, and she's alone in a room with Sabo, who looks like he'd kill anyone who'd dare entering and seeing her gasp for air and cry, so it's fine, it's fine.

_Everything's fine,_ she hears Sabo say distantly, and she wants to retort something clever but can't find her breath. _Koala, hey, everything's fine, I swear._

Well, of course it is.

It can't not be. Koala can't imagine functioning if she admits to herself that she's not fine, and maybe close to breaking down, or even more likely, has been broken down and split apart in the middle for years.

(A thing Koala can't remember: what being carefree felt like.

A thing Koala can't forget: her parent's relief when she came home. Their cruelty. Tiger's kindness when she was on his ship. The color of his blood.)

oOo

A thing Koala won't remember:

Mariejois.

Well, that's not true.

She remembers Mariejois fine; has to, if she ever wants to infiltrate it. It's valuable information, and Koala is very good at getting, and keeping, valuable information.

So not Mariejois, then. Mariejois' people.

Not the World Nobles; those she remembers fine. Hate needs a target, and the more detailed they are the longer it'll last. Koala's fighting the world; she needs her anger to last a long time.

Mariejois' people were the ones that didn't have a name. Mariejois' people were the one hiding in the corners, and walking under the floors, and fighting every second of their lives.

Mariejois' people: cruel and hopeless, survival engraved in their bones and compassion drained from their being a century ago.

(Koala prides herself on being compassionate.

She was, or she thinks she was, before it all. Her parents were kind and her home beautiful, after all; she had no reason not to be.

After...

Well, compassion as a slave is a luxury. How many times can you bear the spear in your heart when someone dies? How long can you keep your anger at bay from the unfairness of it all? Can you make the conscious effort to be kind, and to understand, when it's already a struggle remembering what your family looked like?

Kindness existed sometimes, in Mariejois, but even that was out of spite. They were still people; whatever they didn't have, happiness or health or a chance to ever escape, they still had kindness. Here was this thing that had meant so little, once; here was this thing that at least they couldn't rob them of. 

Kindness was rarest of all, still. Here was this thing that was wasted energy more often than not, and nobody could afford to waste energy for someone else; or if they were willing to, than chances were they'd die quickly, brokenhearted or hopelessly defiant, and better not to get too close then.

Koala prides herself on being compassionate, and she is. Maybe to prove something to people who don't see her as a person, as an individual, as deserving of their time, or freedom, or air, but still, she is.

When things are going well, she is.

When they aren't-

_Bloodstained tunnel vision_ , Sabo calls it. Everything in her mind focused on survival; every trace of fear eradicated by years of flinching and crying that hadn't ever helped her, disregarding her emotions until never, her morals until never, fighting her way through ruthlessly until she's safe enough to take a breath and break down.

No, she's not always compassionate. Cornered wild beasts rarely are.)

Mariejois' people: ghosts in alive bodies, and Koala had been one of them, once. Will always be one of them. They are who reminded of what people were, when she forgot she was a person.

Mariejois' people: hundreds and hundreds of faces she could never recall, hundreds and hundreds of dead she can never save.

oOo

A thing Sabo can't remember:

If he ever told Ace he loved him.

Well, probably not.

( _Told,_ no. That wasn't the way they did things.

Showed, yes, of course. Any of them would have died a thousand times over for each other, and that was easy enough to interpret, even for Ace and Luffy.

But to have worded it clearly? Not likely. Sabo used his words as a way to rebel against his parents, _here is what I'm doing with your precious education and knowledge, aren't you glad you taught me?_

But feelings, and gratitude, and loyalty- well, those were better kept to yourself in Grey Terminal, and Sabo had never spent enough time on Mount Corvo to get rid of his hate of vulnerability.)

There are a lot of things Sabo can't remember about Ace, actually- like how his voice sounded like, and how many days it had taken them to become friends, and the particular look Sabo had only gotten glimpses of, when he woke up in the middle of the night and found his brother watching over Sabo and Luffy, like the creepy kid that he was.

There's a lot of things Sabo can't remember about Ace, and it makes sense, after all. Childhood memories fade, and amnesia blurred them even more. He forgot just as much with Luffy.

But Luffy isn't dead.

(A thing Sabo can't know:

If Ace had been angry at him. If Ace remembered him, if Ace had still loved him, if Ace had ever forgiven him for running away alone, and breaking their promise, and getting himself killed.

A thing Sabo wishes he could know:

If Ace had been happy.)

oOo

A thing Sabo won't remember:

His parents.

Anything about them, anything at all.

They're dead, not useful anymore, and as far as he's concerned they've never existed. Koala says that's spiteful, but she doesn't say it disapprovingly, so it's fine.

A thing Sabo won't remember:

What he thought family meant.

(Words, Sabo sometimes thinks, are his greatest weapon.

Which is probably false. He can punch through walls.

But words had been the first thing he controlled, and understood. The first thing that was his own. The first thing that his parents couldn't criticize, and that it wouldn't matter if they did. Words gave Sabo an escape, and a way to fight back, even if that was through muttered disagreements and books thrown at doors in fits of frustration.

And it took him so long, to understand that even those first friends could be twisted, and made to fit someone else's desires. That nothing, not even the only thing that was _his,_ was immune to his parent's wishes.

_We're your family,_ had said his father one day, tone disappointed and disdainful and so, so disinterested. It had meant _you owe us, but we do not owe you._

_We're your family, idiot,_ had muttered Ace at one point, midway through trying to wrap a bandage around his shoulder, and it had meant _I'll help, always. I'm here, always.  
_

Sabo hadn't bitten back tears. Sabo had stood very still, had relaxed into Ace's side, and felt very small and very warm. _Thanks,_ he'd said in return, instead of some jab, and Ace had grumbled something and supported Sabo's weight without complaining.)

There's a lot of things wrong with him, and Sabo's realistic enough to know that most of those are his own fault. Nobody needs to be that sarcastic all the time.

But his obsession with words, his reflex to hide behind politeness and manners whenever unbalanced, even he way he occasionally gets claustrophobic, until Koala leans into his side and says, _Sabo, breathe-_ well, that's his parents' fault. And he'll never get them to apologize, he'll never get revenge or an explanation, because they're dead.

So Sabo won't remember them.

Someone only truly dies once they're forgotten, and Sabo's spiteful enough to kill them a second time.

oOo

A thing neither Sabo nor Koala can remember: 

Their first meeting.

They've been partners too long, and involved in the same circles even longer. They can remember their first mission, sure; but their first meeting? No way.

(It was in a random corridor in Baltigo, when they were both still children, or as much as they had ever gotten too bad. Sabo still shying away from the intimidating blankness in his memory; Koala too angry, too determined, too guilty.

"You have blood on your face," had remarked Koala.

"It's a scar, actually," had said Sabo.

"Oh. A burn? You should dunk your head into water it until it's numb and hope that it doesn't get infected, then," she had answered, and moved on before Sabo could react or ask how she knew that.

And that was it.)

They don't remember, and they don't really think about it. They don't have to hold onto everything; they're right there with each other.

oOo

A thing neither Sabo nor Koala will remember:

All the times they stood over each other's unconscious body, terrified to their bones. All the nights waiting for their partner to wake up, all the uncertainty and anger and worry, seconds turning into hours, or maybe the other way around.

What a terrifying thing, mortality. Especially when one knows grief so well, and Koala and Sabo both do, terribly vividly.

For all the blanks in their memories, and the things shoved back down, they never seem to forget how to hold onto each other, even if that means jumping at the same time in the lion's den. 

(At some point holding and following, and trust and strength won't be enough, but neither of them wants to think about _that_ , and the world was never good at making these particular two do anything they didn't want.)

They're alive, despite it all. Fears are easy to shake off when they don't seem so incredibly real. No point in remembering, no point in weighing yourself down.

(Enough memories of each other, and that means they get to choose which they keep.

Isn't that incredibly lucky?)

oOo

(A thing that's not memory, that's just knowledge, something expected, something you don't need to try to protect, or try to erase:

_Koala, hey, everything's fine, everything's fine._

_Sabo? Sabo, I'm here. Just breathe._

What a wonderful thing, trust. What a rare thing, comfort.

They can't ever change their past, but maybe if they stopped thinking or not-thinking so much about it, they'd be better at noticing the present.

Ah well.

They're both forgetful.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so fond of those idiots. it's terrible
> 
> (The title is in French, and can mean oblivion, the act of progressively forgetting, or simple oversight.)


End file.
